


Key Witness

by strangesmallbard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Angst, Angst and Humor, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesmallbard/pseuds/strangesmallbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan is down on her luck. She’s lost her job, and hasn’t decided on her next move yet. Her best friend decides that a night out at her local lesbian bar is just what she needs. However, it looks like Emma’s bad luck hasn’t run out just yet when she steps outside for some air, and accidentally witnesses a murder. </p><p>Then she meets the mysterious and very irritated Detective Regina Mills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key Witness

**Author's Note:**

> You ever have a plot bunny that gets very out of hand? Well considering this turned out to be over 7k and a lot angstier than I expected, I think this qualifies. In any case, I’m actually pretty happy with the way this turned out. I hope you all enjoy! And please do comment if you are inclined.
> 
> Disclaimer: The knowledge I have of the legal system in the United States comes from the internet (from relatively trustworthy sources), asking my lawyer parents things, and from watching various television shows. That being said, I apologize for any unknown falsities.

_September 2011_

 

In retrospect, this all could have easily been avoided.

 

The music is loud. The music is _really_ loud. She almost asked the DJ to turn it down, but decided against harshing everyone’s vibe or something by retreating to the bar. Why the hell did she volunteer to be tonight’s designated driver? Who knows. She’s never been good at ignoring impulse decisions. She needs a beer. Or like, three. 

 

“Tough night, love?” She looks up to see Tink, Ruby’s friend and Emma’s sort-of friend, holding a tray of very delicious looking shots. She puts her head in her arms.

 

“You could say that.” Emma says. She looks over at the dance floor where Ruby is currently surrounded by women, half-dancing, half-grinding with a girl–was her name, Belle? Lacey? _Belle_ –with a huge happy drunk smile on her face, apparently having the time of her life. 

 

“I have _no_ idea how she managed to convince me to come.” Emma looks back at Tink with a stink eye to rival Ruby’s grandmother. Upon realizing that she was bisexual, Ruby begged Emma for  _months_ to come to this place with her. Up until now, Emma had always been too busy.

 

“Oh she doesn’t have to convince _me_ to come.” Tink winks.

 

Emma blinks and covers her ears. “No. I did not just hear that.” The _last_ thing she needs to hear about is Ruby’s sex life, really, truly.

 

“Jealous are you, Emma?” 

 

Emma snorts. “Don’t worry, Bell. Your casual relationship is safe. _Very_ safe.”

 

“I’m just joking around, sweetheart. You _know_ we broke that off a while ago.”

 

Emma blinks again. “Oh. Right.”

 

Tink giggles and it sounds very aptly like tiny ringing bells. Or that could just be Emma’s messed up eardrums from the booming dubstep. “Come on, Emma! I know you’re bummed, but the night is still salvageable. There’s a girl checking you out _just_ over there! Getting laid could definitely be in your future.”

 

Emma looks over and sure enough, there’s an attractive redhead with a smirk on her face, raising a glass in her direction. On any other day besides the day she got laid off from her already shitty barista job, she might have gone over. But it is that day. Today’s the day Emma is _very_ fucked, and doesn’t feel like getting fucked or fucking anyone. Or doing anything but watching reruns of the _X-Files_ and eating mint chip ice cream.

 

Fuck. That’s it. She’s getting _one_ drink. 

 

“Can I get a corona?” Tink raises a brow, but slides a bottle her way. Thank god. Beer. She takes a first sip, winces because she actually fucking hates corona, but at least it’s something.

 

“Hey girl!” She nearly does a spit take. Ruby has appeared out of nowhere in all her slightly sweaty, booty shorts and high heeled-glory.

 

“Hi.” She says carefully, eyeing a very giggly and hazy-eyed Belle hanging onto her waist.

 

Ruby glances over at Tink, who’s now washing the counter. “Has she been moping all night?”

 

Tink nods without looking up.

 

Ruby looks at her and really what Emma can’t take is the pity in her big brown eyes–she knows how majorly she’s screwed right now. It’s lucky she’s getting paid until the end of the month. It makes sense, the shop is losing funds so newer workers with less cred are getting laid off first, but it still a kick to the stomach because she counted on this job for at least another six months while she decided just exactly what she wants to do. Try to go back to college or apply for the police academy. _Try to go back to college or apply for the police academy._

 

“If I want to mope I will mope until the end of time itself.”

 

Belle giggles again. “You’re so dramatic, Emma.”

 

Emma abruptly stands from the stool, shrugs her trusty leather jacket back on, and dumps a few bucks on the table to pay for the shitty corona. She can’t leave as the designated driver, but that doesn’t mean she has to stay _inside_ and listen to them.

 

Ruby grabs her arm. “Emma, I’m sorry. I really thought you just needed some distracting.”

 

“Yeah.” Emma replies. She presses her lips together and takes a deep breath. “I know you just tried to help, Ruby. Thanks.”

 

“And _you_ were the one who signed up to be designated driver, you know.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “I was the only one I trusted enough to actually stay sober.” She glances back at the abandoned beer. “Sober enough.” She grunts. “I’ll just be outside. I need some air.”

 

Ruby nods and drags Belle away back to the dance floor. Emma watches them for a while, watches Belle’s arms encircle Ruby’s neck as Ruby’s hands find a place on her waist. She doesn’t know what she’s feeling. She knows she doesn’t feel like chatting anyone up tonight. It strikes her that she might want a long-term relationship, but no. No that’s ridiculous. She doesn’t have the time or means for one.

 

Still she stares, stares at the soft expression in Ruby’s eyes, mirrored in Belle’s. She has a feeling tomorrow Ruby’s going to be lovesick after her hangover.

 

She shakes her head. Outside. She needs to go outside. 

 

**

 

The stars are bright tonight. If she were anyone else, she might wax poetic.

 

But she’s Emma Swan, and she got a D- on her sonnet in sophomore English.

 

She shivers and wraps her jacket tighter around her. She considers smoking a cigarette but she’s gone a few months without and would rather not break that. Even though it wasn’t really an addiction in the first place. Stress cigarette breaks after particularly bad days, like this one.

 

The alley itself is filled with the usual litter and a nearby overfilled dumpster. She’s half expecting to hear a cat screech, but instead just hears muffled Lady Gaga music. She shivers again and her eyes begin to burn. Oh no. She’s not about to start crying in an alley, no fucking way. 

 

Then she hears a tiny, almost imperceptible groan.

 

What the hell?

 

She hears another groan, a little bit louder this time, and oh no, oh fuck, it sounds like a _person._ There are a number of horrible, terrifying reasons someone could be groaning in an alley. She steps closer towards the groaning, actually hoping she just stumbles onto two people picking a bad spot to have a quickie. But it sounds like a person in pain kind of groan, not pleasure.

 

_Shitshitshit_

 

She squints, trying to make out the figures in front of her. One is hunched over the other. _Shit_. She’s going to get murdered. She clears her throat. “Hello?”

 

Figure One looks up and their eyes widen in surprise. She just make out facial features, a thin face, a lot of stubble, hair limply flopping over their forehead, probably a guy. Before she can repeat herself, they run out of the alleyway, nearly knocking her over in the process. The streetlights reveal that Figure One has brown hair, is wearing a brown coat. 

 

“Hey asshole, watch where you’re going!” She yells. It feels good to yell.

 

She hears another groan from Figure Two and now a voice, _“H-hello?”_ A woman’s, most likely. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

 

She steps closer to her and feels her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest. The woman is sitting down, head bent over, and her hand covering a _very rapidly bleeding wound on her side_. There’s no weapon present. Emma swallows a few times and quickly kneels down. _Fuck_. Regardless of the freezing weather she takes off her jacket and gently removes the woman’s hand to press the jacket against the wound. That’s supposed to help, right? Pressure on the wound?

 

“Hey! Hi, it’s alright. He’s gone.” Emma says in what she hopes is a soothing voice. With her unused hand she reaches into her pocket and dials _911_ , just goddamn _praying_  that at this point she’s not too late.

 

The woman shudders. “He...stole my bag…” Her words are slurring together. She’s barely keeping her eyes open. That’s bad. That’s really, _really_ bad. 

 

_“911 what’s your emergency?”_

 

She swallows again and finds her voice. “Hi, I’m in the alleyway next to _Louanne’s_ on 7th Avenue, and a woman has just been stabbed or robbed or both and I? I’m putting pressure on the wound, but she’s lost a lot of blood and she’s starting to pass out-”

 

_“Just try to keep her awake, Ma’am. Stay calm, we’ll send someone over soon.”_

 

The call ends. The ringing in her ears is somehow drowning out the pop music. She can see her breath in the air. She gently grabs the woman’s wrist and feels for a pulse. It’s there. It’s faint, but it’s _there_ , she’s alive. Thank god, thank whatever deity is up there.

 

“Someone’s coming. You’re going to be okay.” She says, not quite sure who she’s trying to convince, and then the woman slowly lifts her head, blearily stares at her. Her mouth is parted slightly. Emma shivers again.

 

“I….Sarah…” 

 

She takes a small breath. _Try to keep her awake._ “Your name is Sarah? That’s a great name! Mine’s Emma. I’ve never really thought the name fit, you know? But oh well. Sarah’s a really beautiful name, really.” Shit, she’s rambling.

 

The woman smiles ever so slightly and she looks right into Emma’s eyes, ensnares them.  Emma thinks her eyes might be blue. Sarah takes a very raspy breath and slides her hand down to lightly hold Emma’s.

 

“Emma…..It’s…..”

 

Then the grip slackens. Emma can only hear her own breath, loud and near wheezing. She frantically checks for Sarah’s pulse and _nononono_ , oh no, oh god, oh no. The burning returns to her eyes and this time she can’t stop what ensues.

 

“Sarah? _Sarah?_ Come on, Sarah!” She pats the woman’s cheek, willing her to draw another breath, and then she finally hears the sirens in the distance. They can’t be too late. They _can’t_. She promised that it would all be okay. This only happens in goddamn tv shows, where the paramedics are ten seconds too late, too late to save her. 

 

Or maybe it was the other way around. She can’t think. She can’t do anything but stare at Sarah’s face, her hands, the leather jacket still pressed to the wound.

 

That’s when she realizes.

 

Sarah’s not looking at anything at all anymore.

 

**

 

“Emma Swan?”

 

Emma looks up from the sidewalk. She blinks a few times, adjusting her eyes to the many flashing lights from police cars, paramedics. She wraps the blanket the EMT gave her tighter around her. She thinks about her jacket, soaking in blood in some evidence bag.

 

She realizes that if she goes to the police academy, she’ll have to see things like this all the time.

 

But going back to college? Yeah, she needs a lot more money for that. And where is she going to get the money, huh? From her _job?_ Ha. 

 

 _Shut the fuck up_ , Emma. Someone _died._

  
Someone died. She shudders and clears her already sore throat from sobbing her eyes out ten minutes or so before.

 

“Yeah. That’s me.”

 

“My name is Detective Regina Mills. I’m told _you_ are my witness?”

 

“Yeah.” She blinks and stares at the Detective for a few moments. She’s wearing a long coat, button up shirt, black slacks. She’s holding a little pad of paper. Her face is stoic, impassive, but there’s something in her eyes. Something very weary. She also has a scar on her upper lip.

“ Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Emma shrugs. “Sure, I mean. Of course. What am I going to do, say no? Leave this woman’s family in agony or something like that?” 

 

Detective Mills raises a brow. “You were with the victim just before she died, is that correct?”

 

“Yeah.” She died right _there._ Emma Swan, fuck up of the century, was the last person she saw as she died in a foul-smelling alleyway. 

 

Detective Mills writes something down. Emma resists the urge to try to see what she’s writing.

 

“Did the victim tell you her name before she died?” 

 

Emma swallows. “Sarah. I think.”

 

“You think?”

 

“Yeah, I _think_ , Detective.  She couldn’t exactly confirm when she’s _dead_ , you know?” Emma snaps and instantly regrets it.

 

Detective Mills raises another eyebrow. She just stares at Emma for a few seconds, like she's trying to figure her out. It's unsettling. “Ms. Swan, I think it might be better if we continue this down at the station.”

 

She doesn’t _need_ to go to the academy to figure out what that actually means. Her eyes widen. “Wait _what?_ I didn’t do it! Fuck, you think I would still be _here_ if I did? I told the officer, the guy was white, had brown hair-”

 

 _“Ms. Swan.”_ Detective Mills repeats like Emma is an indignant teenager. “I simply meant come down to the station so you can have a few more moments to gather yourself together and perhaps get a cup of coffee, but by all _means_ flip out and try to _convince_ me that you’re lying through your teeth.” 

 

Emma stares her down. “I swear to you, I _didn’t_ do it.” 

 

Detective Mills rolls her eyes. “Are you coming down to the station or would you rather continue this conversation here?”

 

Her eyes are _intensely_ brown. In any other situation Emma might get lost in them. She shivers again and realizes that yeah, coffee sounds nice. And she’d rather have coffee if she’s being accused of murder than sit on the back of an ambulance under a thin blanket with everyone and their mother watching them.

 

“Station.” She finally says.

 

“Good, come with me.” She begins to walk away, evidently expecting Emma to follow.

 

“Wait, in _your_ car? Isn’t that just for perps?” Emma drops the blanket.

 

Detective Mills purses her lips. “If I let you go in your own vehicle, there’s a good chance you’ll run. And unfortunately for us, _your_ statement is the only thing we have right now to find this woman’s killer. So I’m going to need your cooperation.”

 

Emma swallows, keeps her eyes focussed on Detective Mills’s. Perps must be fucking _terrified_ of her. Emma’s a little perturbed herself, but she’s dealt with scarier shit than an angry police detective. Like tonight, for instance.

 

“Fine.” She says, finally stands from the back of the ambulance.

 

Detective Mills nods curtly and walks away, and this time Emma begrudgingly follows.

 

“Just so you know.” She says as Detective Mills opens the back seat to her car. “My DNA is going to be all over her hands, face, and side, because you know, I was trying to keep her _alive_. _Not_ kill her.”

 

“I’m aware, dear.” Detective Mills shuts her door and goes to the front seat.

 

Emma leans her head against the seat.

 

Fucking perfect.

 

**

 

It occurs to Emma somewhere between receiving her coffee and finishing it that she can totally bail and run. The door to the room isn’t locked. Mills has been gone for almost an hour and a half.

After all, that’s what she’s known for. Running from foster homes, from responsibilities, from her own goddamn kid.

 

Then again, there are about five armed detectives out there.

 

She runs her hands over her face. She’s in an interrogation room, she thinks. Maybe. There’s a window looking out into the squad room, so maybe not. In any case it’s small and dark and unfriendly and Emma wraps her arms around herself. A few moments later the door opens and in comes Detective Mills, sans long coat. Her shirt is a periwinkle blue.

 

“Was the coffee satisfactory?”

 

Emma stares at her mug. “Actually it was kind of shit.”

 

She thinks Mills might be smirking a little, but that could also be the lighting. She probably looks annoyed. She wonders if vague annoyance is her neutral expression.

 

“Well this is a _police station_ , dear, not a Starbucks.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes. Mills ignores her in favor of opening her legal pad to a new sheet and then deposits a tape recorder between them. She flicks her eyes up to Emma’s again.

 

“Are you ready to begin, Ms. Swan?”

 

Emma sits up straight and laces her fingers together, tries not to fidget.

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be. And seriously, call me Emma. It’s like you’re my teacher or something. It’s weird, if a little kinky.” Oh my god did she just actually _say that._ She feels like slapping her own tongue.

 

Mills raises another brow, but doesn’t comment. She briefly wonders how much shit a detective has to see before the Emma Swans of the world just become one more face in a sea of faces instead of an interesting or weird story to tell friends later. 

 

She presses the _record_ button. At least it wasn’t on before.

 

“Alright then, _Emma_. Let’s start again. You were with the victim, Linda Meyer-”

 

“Wait a second, _Linda?_ ”

 

“Her purse, containing identification, was found about two blocks away from the crime scene.”

 

Emma can’t stop her fidgeting hands this time. “Then who’s _Sarah?_ ”

 

Mills purses her lips again and takes a breath. When she speaks again her voice is just a little bit softer. “Sarah is the name of her daughter, Sarah Meyer.”

 

Oh. Emma stares and stares. Sits back in her seat. _Oh._ Fuck.

 

“Then–” She clears the rasp out of her voice. “It was a robbery? A robbery gone wro–”

 

 _“Emma.”_ Mills warns and clicks _pause_ on the recording device. Emma slumps. 

 

“My apologies, Detective. I’ll cooperate fully from now on.” 

 

Mills clicks _record_ once again. “See that you do. You were with the victim, Linda Meyer, just before she died, is that correct?”

 

“Yeah.” She drums her fingertips across the table.

 

“And besides giving the name of her daughter, _Sarah_ , did she say anything to you?”

 

Emma shudders slightly. “Yeah. She said _‘hello’_ and _‘he stole my bag.’_ She was trying to say something else, but she…” She swallows.

 

Mills looks at her like her voice before, her eyes are a little softer, almost imperceptibly, maybe in sympathy? Empathy?  Emma notices again that they’re quite beautiful. That she’s quite beautiful. She shakes her head a few times.

 

“Go on, Ms. Swan.” Emma looks at her again and whatever was there before is gone, back are her pursed lips and that impassive expression.

 

“Right so, she died after that.” 

 

“And you saw the perpetrator, correct? Can you repeat to me what you told Officer Thompson at the scene?”

 

Emma wonders if this is procedure or if the guy simply forgot. He looked like was about to puke at any time, kept repeating questions, and then went on to ramble about his girlfriend, Ashley, and their three year old, Alexandra, and how he’s here, doing this job, for them and that’s just about when Emma kind of tuned out herself.

 

“Yeah. The guy was hunched over her, and I couldn’t really see what he was doing. I said _‘Hello?’_ and the guy saw me and bolted. He had a thin face, stubble, was white, had straggly brown hair. He was also wearing a brown coat.”

 

Mills writes something down in her legal pad. “Could you describe him to a sketch artist?”

 

Emma nods. “Definitely.” 

 

There’s a minute of awkward silence and Emma finds herself blurting, “So this means I’m definitely not a suspect, right? Because that piece of shit is _still_ out there, and investigating me would be a waste of time.”

 

Mills looks at her with something like amusement. “Unless you’re Captain America, and are able to throw her purse two blocks away from your location, then no. You’re in the clear.”

 

Emma reddens. “Well, I don’t have superpowers, so that’s good. Actually, I can tell if someone’s lying or not.” 

 

Mills continues to look at her with that particular expression. 

 

“And good news! You’ve been telling the truth for all our encounters thus far.” She decides not to add that her built in lie detector tends to be faulty in high stress situations.

 

“Thank you for telling me, Ms. Swan. I’ll be _sure_ to pass along that crucial information to my Captain. ” Okay, now she’s just being _cruel_. She gives Mills a tight smile. “In the meantime, _please_ refrain from asking any questions until I’ve finished taking your statement.”

 

“My apologies again, Detective Mills.” 

 

“Now please repeat your encounter with the perpetrator once more. Try to include as many details as you can. Anything you say could help us identify and find Mrs. Meyer’s killer.”

 

Emma takes a deep breath. She wants the motherfucker found and buried, but she can’t stop thinking _SarahSarahSarah_ , who’s actually Linda, who’s dead, and who never even got to see the actual Sarah before she died, and there she was outside dealing with her own minuscule in comparison issues, and she can’t do _anything._

 

Mills waits, pen poised. Then it what seems like one long breath, she digs through her memory to find details about the guy’s boots, jeans, how fast he was running, what his eye color probably was, and is able to recall the fact that he was carrying what definitely could have been a purse.

 

After she’s done, she takes another sip of coffee before remembering that she finished it a while ago. Mills presses _stop_ on the recording device and starts to write. Starts to write for a really long time, or Emma’s nerves are shot to hell. Probably both. She feels the need to say more, because what if she forgot something absolutely crucial? What if Linda never gets any justice because Emma’s statement proves useless?

 

(Damnit, damnit, _goddamnit._ )

 

Except she blurts out, “You know like seven months ago, I had the opportunity to train to become an EMT.” Mills continues to write and so she continues to talk. “I almost took it, I mean the money would be really good, but I didn’t want to give up shifts at my job, and I didn’t really want to be an EMT in the long run. I was worried I’d get stuck or something.” She begins to fidget again with the mug handle, the idea of being stuck, being _rooted_ still terrifies her. “And today I got fired, so I keep thinking…..I could have saved her, you know? If I were an EMT, I could have–”

 

“I learned very quickly in this job that guilt can eat you alive, Ms. Swan.” She finally looks up, and her brows are both raised. “Believe me when I say that there was nothing you could have done to save her life, EMT or not.”

 

Emma fidgets her fingers along the handle of the mug. “Why should I trust you?”

 

“I’m a police officer.” She replies.

 

Emma snorts. “Can I have a real answer?”

 

Mills looks up again. “Then trust me because I want to catch this ‘piece of shit’ as you so eloquently put as much as you do. Or don’t trust me at all.” She goes back to writing.

 

“Alright then, I won’t.” Mills gives her a curious look, like she’s a bit surprised by Emma’s answer. Or she’s not surprised at all. She can’t honestly tell. Mills furrows her brow, seems to be studying Emma like before, and her tongue flicks out for a second.

 

Emma _definitely_ doesn’t stare at it. Definitely.

 

After another moment, Regina lets out a breath and purses her lips again. “Fine. Drown in your own guilt with your own petulance.”

 

Emma’s about to reply when the door opens.

 

“Regina, you almost done taking her statement? Kathryn’s here.”

 

“Tell her that if I had to wait nearly _two hours_ for that warrant in the Wells case, she can wait five more minutes for me to finish taking a witness statement.”

 

The woman snorts and shakes her head. “Alright, carry on.”

 

“Thanks, Mulan.” The woman rolls her eyes and nods a curt greeting towards Emma, before closing the door once more.

 

“Who was–”

 

“We’re done for now, Ms. Swan. As soon as we are able to find a suspect, we may call you in again to do a line-up. You gave your information when you arrived, so after you give your description to the sketch artist outside, you’re free to go whenever you want.”

 

Then with a click of a door, Mills is gone. 

 

Emma stares at her chair for a second, completely unsure about what to do. Her car is still parked on a street near _Louanne’s_ , though Ruby could probably–shit. _Shit_. _She left Ruby and Belle._ She whips out her phone and sure enough, fourteen missed calls, ten missed texts. 

 

_Whererer are you  ?_

 

_dude. e MMA. there are POLICE HERE.  I TH IGNK SO MEONE DIED_

 

_ok therey’re saying someone got stabbed?_

 

_DID UYOU GET STABBD ???_

 

_EMMA SNWNER THE PHONE I SWEAR TO FUCK_

 

 _Shit._ She clicks Ruby’s number and waits.

 

“Hey, look sorry about–”

 

“Emma! Oh my god, are you okay? Did you get stabbed?”

 

“No, I’m totally fine, I’m actually at a police station–”

 

“Oh my god, did _you_ stab someone?”

 

“ _No_ , Jesus Ruby. I’m kind of the….” Emma glances outside to the squad where Mills is now talking to a very well dressed blond woman, a lawyer maybe? She shakes her head, she doesn’t really feel like getting into it right now. “....nevermind. Can you…..does Tink still know how to hot-wire cars?”

 

“...I’m pretty sure that’s not something you can just like, forget.”

 

“Alright, can you ask her to hot-wire mine? Then if she says yes, can you two pick me up from the downtown station in it in like, twenty minutes?”

 

“Are you crazy? We’re not driving a _stolen vehicle_ to a _police station!”_

 

“Ruby, I’m giving you,” she glances outside again to make sure no one is glancing in her direction, better safe than sorry, because yeah it’s _definitely_ technically still illegal, “ _permission_ to hot-wire my car. It’s _fine_.”

 

“But–”

 

_“Ruby!”_

 

A sigh echoes from the other line. “Fine, but you owe me an explanation when I get there.”

 

“Fine. And thanks.” Ruby hangs up. She stares at her phone for several seconds before she finally exits the room to find the damn sketch artist.

 

His name is August T. Booth and apparently he used to be a cop, but got shot in the leg, which resulted in amputation and him taking up writing and drawing again, which inevitably led him back to law enforcement to offer his services to serve justice once more, and really. This day needs to end. Right now.

 

Though with Linda’s face still in her head, she doubts sleep will come any time soon.

 

* * *

 

_March 2012_

 

“Alright, _who_ here ate _all_ the donuts?” 

 

“You probably did, Jones.”

 

“Nolan, I think I’d remember eating the last jelly donut. They’re basically crack for a cop.”

 

Nolan shakes his head. “You’ve got it all wrong, Jones. If anything’s crack for a cop, it’s chocolate covered glaze.”

 

Regina really needs to invest in some of those noise cancellation earphones. Honestly. She’s been staring at this DD5 while listening to her coworkers talk drivel for twenty goddamn minutes. She thinks about mentioning seeing Detective Gus take the last donut a few hours ago, but watching Jones stare confusedly at a donut box is probably the most amusement she’s going to get all day. 

 

Perhaps Kathryn would be up for a critiquing lawyer and cop shows night this weekend.

 

She gets ten dollars out of her pocket, leans over her desk, and deposits it into Jones’s hand. He stares at the bill in utter confusion. The moron. She takes a deep, calming breath and gives a sardonic smile. “Take this and buy another box, then. Make yourself useful for once.”

 

He narrows his eyes. “Hey _Mills_ , I’ll have you know I’m quite useful.”

 

“Which explains all the undone paperwork on your desk, Jones.” A new voice enters the squad and both Jones and Nolan seem to jump at least two feet. Nolan then looks directly down at his paperwork, pretending he was never part of his, and Jones looks at anywhere but the person addressing them, crinkles the ten dollar bill in his hand. Regina stifles a chuckle.

 

“Sorry Cap.” Jones says quickly and quietly. “I just need to….CSU called about evidence….and….well….” He trails off, and Captain Tamara Espinoza raises a brow as he attempts to pull himself together.

  
“Then _go,_ Detective. Or do I have to write you up for the second time this month?”

 

He nods furiously. “Ay ay, Cap.” He grabs his coat and begins to leave, but Espinoza calls after him again. “And Jones?”

 

He turns around, eyes widened. “Yes?”

 

“I’d like maple donuts, please.” Her expression is still serious, but there’s an unmistakable twinkle in her eyes. 

 

“Yes, Ma’am,” He sys and promptly exits the squad room. Thank god, now she might be able to get her DD5 done in peace. Tamara lets out the laugh she’s been holding, loud and bright, and sits down on the edge of Regina’s desk.

 

“I swear, that _never_ gets old.” 

 

Regina snorts. “A part of me wants to say stop fucking with him so he doesn’t have an aneurism in the future, and a much larger part of me wants to say please _never_ stop.”

 

“And we get donuts out of the deal, don’t forget.”

 

Regina laughs. “Thanks to my ten dollars. Anything new from Humbert and Gus?”

 

Tamara stands, back to business. “Actually yeah, surprisingly. That’s actually why I’m here. Remember that burglary-gone-wrong-and-turned-into-a-fatal-stabbing case you had months back?”

 

Regina raises her brow. “The one in the alley next to _Louanne’s_ , where we had absolutely no leads, but that generic drawing Booth did that led to everyone and their mother calling in bogus anonymous tips?”

 

Tamara nods. “Yep, that one. Turns out the guy Humbert and Gus just checked out in the Brooks case? Yeah, they think he just alluded to doing the crime. Completely inadmissible, of course, but apparently he said, and I quote, _‘is this about what I did to that woman next to that dyke bar? Because I swear that was an accident!_ ” 

 

Regina blinks. He couldn’t have just–

 

“What kind of _idiot_ incriminates themselves like that to cops?”

 

Tamara shrugs. “Who knows. Anyway, Gus remembered the Meyer case and now they’re hauling him in here for questioning. Do we still have that witness’s info?”

 

Regina bites the inside of her mouth. “Emma Swan.” She somehow remembers taking that statement clear as day. The way the damn woman kept fidgeting, the way her eyes were so very vibrant under the harsh fluorescents. How unrest seemed to seep like smoke under a door from her skin. She remembers quietly hoping the woman had a better day tomorrow, though she doubt her own presence added to the possibility.

 

She begins rifling through files in her first drawer, finally finding _Swan_ towards the back.

 

“141 Baker Street. A phone number too.”

 

“Great. See if she can do a line-up as soon as possible?  I’ll call Kathryn to see if we can get a warrant for his apartment. I doubt we’ll find the murder weapon, but with this guy it’s a _definite_ possibility.”

 

**

 

Emma Swan is evidently a ghost.

 

Regina called the number: disconnected. She went to her supposed apartment: now rented by a young woman named Ariel Gillis, and the landlord had no idea where she was living now. She went back to _Louanne’s_ and talked to Tink, a very _awkward_ conversation because she hadn’t exactly called Tink back after that one night. (Really, she was grateful no one from _Louanne's_  outwardly recognized her the night she was called to the scene.) Apparently Tink _thinks_ she might be living with her friend, Mary Margaret Blanchard, but isn’t sure. Emma hasn’t come back since that night and they only see each other when Ruby Lucas, a mutual friend, gets them together.

 

She calls Nolan for the address, and quietly curses the fact that her own partner has chosen _this_ particular week to go on her honeymoon.

 

Mary Margaret lives in a tiny apartment on the corner of Canterberry, and there is a _God Welcomes You!_ placemat in front of her door. There are flowers in small pots on both sides of the door. Maybe gardenias. 

 

The woman herself is wearing a pink cardigan and a very, _very_ nervous expression that a police officer is at her front door, looking for her best friend. Regina assures her that Emma is in absolutely no trouble at all, and just needs to find her, immediately. It takes accepting a cup of chamomile tea and enduring a conversation about the fourth grade class she teaches to convince her that Regina truly means no harm before revealing that Emma actually moved out a few months ago and is now living at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. Meaning that regardless of the high quality tea, Regina has wasted an _entire_ forty-five minutes and is just barely able to smile at Mary Margaret Blanchard as she leaves. 

 

A quick google search for directions, and Regina is sitting in her car in front of Granny’s Bed and Breakfast, hoping this isn’t just a wild goose chase. If she wasn’t absolutely certain Emma didn’t commit this crime, she’d be _highly_ suspicious by now.

 

In fact.

 

She takes out her cellphone and dials Nolan.

 

“It’s Mills, I need you to run Emma Swan’s name through the system.” 

 

She can practically hear Nolan scratching his head through the phone. “Our _witness?_ ”

 

“ _Yes,_ our witness. And _hurry._ See if the address matches the one I’m texting you now.” 

 

She drums her fingers against the steering wheel as she waits for Nolan’s search result. She can hear typing in the background and it causes her irritation to heighten.

 

“ _Well?_ ”

 

“Just a sec–I got a hit.”

 

She lets out a breath. What secrets could Emma Swan be hiding? 

 

“Criminal record?”

 

“Nope, she just got accepted into the police academy, actually. And the address matches.”

 

Oh. That’s....unexpected. Regina masks her surprise by giving a quick _Thanks_ and promptly hanging up. 

 

Emma Swan is going to be a police officer.

 

Interesting. Very, very interesting.

 

She takes a deep breath, relinquishes her tight hold on the steering will, and enters the Breakfast part of the establishment. Everyone glances at her as a bell sounds, and predictably, their eyes wander to the gold badge clipped to her belt, and the holstered gun.

 

Ignoring them all, her eyes scan the place and come across a very familiar curly blond head.

 

 _Finally_. 

 

She slides onto the old diner-style stool and sure enough it’s Emma Swan, staring at into her mug of coffee like it holds all the wisdom in the universe. Or maybe it’s hot chocolate. Either way, the sight is familiar. 

 

She places her elbows on the table and manages a wry smile. “Ms. Swan, I see you’ve just changed out your blue leather for red leather.”

 

Emma turns to her and blinks. Twice. “Detective Mills?”

 

“Good to see your memory hasn’t worn out. Tell me, would you still be able to identify Linda Meyer’s killer in a line-up?”

 

Her eyes harden almost immediately, her hand tenses around the mug. Evidently, the event is still lingering on her mind. “Definitely.” She says, voice low and harsh. “So you finally caught him.”

 

“Nice deduction skills, Recruit.” She gives a raised brow. Emma reddens almost immediately and goes back to staring at her cup. She masks her expression to seriousness and tries to catch Emma’s eyes again.

 

“Yes, we think so. Depending on what our search comes up with at his apartment, your identification could seal the deal.”

 

Emma looks back at her. “Will I have to testify in court?”

 

Regina cocks her head to the side. “It’s a possibility, yes.” 

 

Emma sighs and closes her eyes, seems to steel herself. “If it come to that, I’ll do it.” She raises her own brow at Regina. “How did you find out I was in the academy?” 

 

“We had to run your name through the system. You were particularly hard to find.”

 

Emma reaches a hand back and holds the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry. Been moving around a lot. When you didn’t call after the first few months, I figured the case got shelved. So that’s why I never updated the information I originally gave.” 

 

“It did get shelved.” Regina admits. “Our finding him was a bit of a fluke.”

 

“Tell me.” Emma says. “Will this bring Linda Meyer’s family some semblance of peace?”

 

Regina sighs and opens the menu conveniently in front of her. If she’s going to have this conversation, she’s going to need a stack of pancakes. Apple, preferably.

 

She look back at Emma. “It could. For some families, finding out brings some kind of closure. For others it’s….”

 

“Meaningless?” Emma offers.

 

“Yes.” She says slowly, not quite sure if that’s the right word. “More-so pointless. They’ve lost their loved one, and nothing’s going to bring them back. Not a name, not a prison sentence. For others it just incites vengeance.” She curls her own hand at that. The word still dances at the tip of her tongue, tempting as ever. The cool metal of the gun she held to Daniel’s killer’s head, who was at the time of this death an eighteen year old gang initiate, how he was pleading and pleading. How a twenty-year-old Regina just barely stepped away with her future intact.

 

Emma nods, like she understands completely. Which of course, she doesn’t. Or maybe she does. She’s learned that Emma is unpredictable. Perhaps this is why Regina was so originally intrigued by her. 

 

“I went to her funeral, Linda Meyers. Not the graveyard ceremony, but the church one.” She pauses a moment. “I felt it was right, you know? Considering I was there when she went. Sarah’s about twelve.” She pauses again and then gives a small, almost desperate laugh. “She was sobbing and sobbing. I thought about saying something, but….” She shakes her head. “I bolted.” 

 

“Was the Meyer case the reason you decided to apply for the academy?” Regina finds herself asking.

 

“Actually?” Emma shrugs. “I was thinking about applying before.” She snorts. “I must be particularly strange huh, to witness a gruesome death, and have that solidify my decision. Especially with how I reacted that night.” She looks to Regina again. 

 

Regina swallows, feels a twinge in her stomach. Something like deja vu, but stronger. “Not particularly strange at all, Emma. Plenty of cops decide to become cops for…..”

 

“Vengeance?”

 

She shakes her head, all the while remembering.

 

Her voice is low, too gravelly to be soft when she finally answers. “Absolution.” 

 

Emma’s thinking when an elderly woman arrives behind the counter. Granny, most likely. She orders a cup of coffee with sugar, hold the cream, and a plate of apple pancakes, as Emma mulls it over. Granny shakes her out of her stupor by asking if she’d like another cup of hot chocolate. Emma says yes. Regina smiles, despite herself.

 

A few moments later Regina has coffee and sighs in relief.

 

“You know.” Emma says to her, now smiling too. A small smile. “You annoyed the hell out of me during our first encounter.”

 

“Likewise, dear.” She takes a small sip. It’s still quite hot, but it’s a hundred times better than the crap they have at the station.

 

“I ended up ranting about you to Ruby, who then told Tink at some point I guess, and it turns out Tink had _quite_ a few things to say about you.”

 

Regina nearly does a spit-take. _“What?”_

 

Now Emma is smirking, the _nerve._ “I believe she said something like, _‘Did you say Regina Mills? She used to come to Louanne’s all the time before she became a hotshot Detective. Emphasis on the hot. And hotheaded.’_ And then she mentioned something about you never calling back.”

 

Regina covers her forehead with her hand. “Next time you see her, wring her neck for me.”

 

Emma laughs, and Regina finds she likes the sound. “Will do. She said some more, but I kind of tuned out after that. I was thinking about how on that miserable night, my friend Ruby convinced me to go to Louanne’s with the motivation of getting me a date. I still don’t know why I agreed. I didn’t really want a date. I actually just ended up in the bar with my ass on a stool.”

 

Regina takes another sip of coffee. “And why exactly are you telling me this?”

 

“Because after I had a few weeks to cool off and get my shit together, I realized that you were probably the most interesting person I met that night. And that if circumstances were drastically different, I might have asked you out.”

 

Regina nearly does another spit-take. And stares at Emma. And stares. A strange warmth builds in her stomach, and she breathes and breathes.

 

She allows her lips to slightly quirk up. “Who knows, I might have said yes.” 

 

They just smile at each other for a minute. It’s frankly unsettling. She has the urge to cover Emma’s hand with her own, similar to the one she had when Emma was fidgeting during her statement. Her eyes are still just as vibrant.

 

The moment ends when Granny sets a plate in front of Regina, sets a new mug in front of Emma. The pancakes look _heavenly_ , and they taste so as well.

 

“I want this guy to go to jail for a long time.” Emma says quietly. Regina jolts back to their current situation. Technically, she’s on the job. “Besides my identifying him, is the case strong?”

 

She swallows her bite and downs it with coffee, and decides on what she can reveal, which really is not much lest someone accuse Regina of screwing up the identification by giving their key witness a bias. If a murder weapon is found with both his DNA on the handle and Linda Meyer’s dried blood, it’s airtight. But she doubts they’ll get lucky. Hopefully they’ll at least a feasibly murder weapon, or match fingerprints on Linda Meyer’s purse, which they scanned thoroughly seven months ago and now have a set of fingers to match to. Kathryn told her seven months ago that she thinks she can get him for Murder 2, and Regina doesn’t doubt her.

 

“I’d say it has a very strong chance.” She finally replies. Emma twists her lips and doesn’t look particularly satisfied by her response, but doesn’t comment.

 

A couple minutes pass in peace and Regina finishes her pancakes.

 

“So can I call you _Regina_ , now?”

 

Regina raises her lips in a smirk. “I suppose you may, in my off-duty hours. Which are still hours away, I might add.”

 

“Right, _Detective Mills_. So does this mean we’ll be seeing each other during your off-duty hours?”

 

Regina gives another small smile. “Perhaps.”

 

“You could come to my graduation from the academy in a few months. Stroll down memory lane.”

 

She remembers having no one in the audience for her own graduation. Her father might have come, but he was gone by then. Gathering a bit of courage, she gently lays a hand on Emma’s.  

 

“I’d rather make new ones.”

 

And Emma smiles again, this time full and bright.


End file.
